Never Meant to Be (Apart) - A Collection of Short Stories
by WhisperedWord
Summary: A chance meeting between two very different people who are never meant to fall in love changes the stakes in Draenor for an Archmage with little experience in romance and a Greatmother who finds that Azeroth brings more than warfare.


**- Note from the Author-**

Hello. One day a fellow WoW fan asked for "erotic Garrison follower fanfiction," or "Garrison follower friendfiction." The first follower who popped into my head was Geyah, as in Greatmother Geyah, as in Durotan's mother and Thrall's paternal grandmother, as in a BAMF older orc woman who leaves clan and home behind to fight alongside a foreign commander on a mission to save her planet. But who to pair her with?

The next character to pop into my imagination was Khadgar.

A tall, strong orc woman of legendary shamanic abilities and a mage on a quest to save two worlds at once. A Greatmother and an Archmage.

This is how they met.

* * *

There is a commotion at the Garrison in Frostfire Ridge.

Peons pause in their work, turn their heads. Frostwall Axe Throwers and Orc guards stand at attention and salute.

Archmage Khadgar strides into the Garrison, nodding to the guards and murmuring a "Throm'ka" as he passes. Cordana Felsong keeps pace next to him, her great green cloak sweeping the stony path. Khadgar approaches the roaring fire at the heart of the Garrison and looks around, seeing Peons bumbling about and all manner of Horde at work crafting and skinning and weaving and mining, but…

"Where is the Commander?" Khadgar frowns.

Cordana seems not to move. "Likely out doing as we suggested." Her voice is steady and flat as a mallet striking stone.

Khadgar rolls a copper coin between his fingers. "Then we've come all this way for nothing."

Cordana's horned helm inclines barely upward. "Surely these followers know where the Commander is. I will ask them." She walks briskly away, and a pink-haired Troll constructing enchantments blinks with surprise when the intimidating Night Elf approaches her.

Khadgar runs one hand through his silver hair and sighs. "Well… a wild goose-chase isn't quite what I'd planned, but…" He turns and wanders up a nearby slope towards other squat, spike-decorated buildings. At a roaring lumber mill, a wild-eyed Orc with unruly white hair shakes his head at a mention of the Commander. A Tauren managing a brood of rylaks shrugs; a rylak huffs and disturbs Khadgar's perfectly smoothed-back hair. Two Goblin women, one with dark purple hair swept into a ponytail and the other with stylish curved sunglasses, eye Khadgar with bemusement but know nothing of the Commander's whereabouts.

The Archmage ducks into a nearby barn. The scents of warm hay and rusted metal hard-packed dirt revive his mood, melting away his self-guardedness from the sharp cold winds of Frostfire Ridge. Khadgar pauses to inhale a slow, appreciative breath of warm, earthen air.

"You do not like the cold?" A low, smooth voice interrupts Khadgar's reprieve. The Archmage glances about the small barn; a tan Orc woman brushes past him from behind, and Khadgar startles at her sudden appearance.

"Pardon me," he stammers, "you've surprised me." The woman turns to face him, and Khadgar first sees her long silvery hair that sways past her shoulders, smooth clay-colored skin, dark brown eyes like water-soaked earth, and elegant lines at her eyes and mouth. _An older woman_ , he realizes. _Finally_.

Finally? As if he had been waiting for… what?

Khadgar clears his throat. "Er, the cold. I have no quarrel with the cold." I sound like an idiot.

The Orc woman smiles. "I should hope not. It would be a battle that you could not hope to win." She gestures to the icy outdoors with one sweep of her arm, gripping a decorated wooden shield. "The elements are strong here. You will thrive if you respect them."

Khadgar watches the muscles in her arm tighten and bulge to lift the heavy shield. He catches himself and meets her steady gaze. "Ah—of course. You must be a shaman." He bows his head respectfully. "I am Archmage Khadgar, seeking the Commander for an important message. Would you happen to know where they are?"

The Orc woman watches him. Again a slow smile lifts the corners of her lips past the tips of her pearlescent tusks. "I'm afraid I cannot help you. Perhaps my son, Durotan, would know where the Commander has gone. They work closely together."

Khadgar blinks. "Your son?" His blue eyes widen. "Oh! You must be—yes." He bows at the waist now, though quickly. "Geyah, a matriarch of the Frostwolf Clan. It's an honor to meet you." He straightens up, feeling suddenly quite warm. "You've raised a remarkable young man in Durotan." _She's his mother? By the Light, she hardly looks of that age—I mean—she looks— …I sound like a schoolboy. I should leave._

Greatmother Geyah nods, and twin rows of golden rings sway upon her pointed ears. "It is an honor to meet the Archmage who has thwarted the Iron Horde and brought a great hero to our land." Her nose wrinkles slightly as she peers at him, and Geyah smiles bemusedly. "I had assumed that you would be younger." She chuckles. "How silly of me."

Warmth rushes to Khadgar's cheeks. _Her laugh…_ "Oh, if only I was doing this twenty years ago. But, I'm sure you agree that we of great experience have the burden of teaching…" _Oh damn. Did I just call her old? Damnit! I didn't—_

Geyah laughs heartily, and Khadgar's heart leaps. "That we do, Khadgar." She looks at him, and for a heartbeat's time Khadgar's clear blue eyes meet hers unabashedly. Geyah steps towards him. "But I sense much vitality and power within you still. Do not think upon your age."

Khadgar looks at her for a moment, watching torchlight dance in her silvery hair. "I sense something with you, as well," he murmurs. Geyah blinks, watching him curiously. Khadgar lifts one hand to reach to her shoulder, and his fingers curl by her ear. With a flourish, Khadgar produces a small copper coin. "Ah, there it is. A copper coin behind your ear!"

Geyah stares at the dented coin. She looks at Khadgar. Khadgar tries not to stare at her, or to succumb to the urge to flee.

Geyah presses her lips to his cheek. Her tusks scratch the light scruff upon his jaw. He stares at her in disbelief, still holding out the coin. Geyah smiles slowly. "I think I have found something also."

 _Light. My knees are going to give out._ Khadgar's fingers close tightly around the coin. "Is it… warm in here?" His voice rises in pitch as he stammers, "I think it's quite warm in here." You're a colossal idiot, old man.

"It's warmer in the loft," Geyah says, so simply and straightforward that the implication nearly misses Khadgar. But it hits him like an Iron Star. "There is an abundance of hay. I think you would like it up there."

Khadgar stares at her. His fist trembles around the copper coin. _This woman, this_ unbelievable _woman_. "I… would very much like to visit this loft."

Geyah turns her head, and Khadgar follows her gaze to see a narrow wooden ladder nearby. He feels her fingers close around his wrist, and with a firm tug he follows her willingly, too willingly.

The copper coin clatters onto the wooden floor.

* * *

Some time later...

Cordana plucks a short, crooked piece of straw from Khadgar's silvery hair. "Is this… straw? Are you all right, Archmage?"

Khadgar grins impishly. His cheeks are red as apples, and his hair is askew in grey clumps as though someone raked her fingers again and again through it, perhaps pulled it here or there. The buckle at his neck is one notch too lose. "Never better, dear Cordana, _never_ better!" His blue eyes are half-lidded, his stare dreamy and unfocused.

Cordana stares motionlessly. "You look ill."

Khadgar's smug grin widens. "You… could say that."

"There is something you're not telling me, Archmage." Cordana's tone is icy cool, but Khadgar is unfazed. He absently pats her arm, and through her plated armor, Cordana somehow looks surprised. Her head jerks in his direction, and she shifts slowly away from him. Khadgar's hand rises to leisurely smooth back his tousled hair.

"I've caught a fever, Cordana…" He inhales a deep, rejuvenating breath of crisp winter air. "Hayfever."

* * *

 **- Note from the Author-**

Thank you for reading. Please comment with your thoughts. Want to read about what happened in the loft? Visit Talia's Tumblr blog to read all about it! What to see what happened in the loft? Talia also created (NSFW) artwork!

And if you just can't wait for the next installment, you can spoil all existing stories for yourself by visiting my Khadgar/Geyah tag.

 **Links to all mentioned works are on my profile page.**


End file.
